Scars
by iheartcoco
Summary: Remus was full of scars, he never knew that Sirius was too. One shot. Slash. Contains implied self harm.


**I have a lot of half written fics floating about that I need to get finished and post, I really need to be more organised. And so here we are. I'm slightly obsessed with this couple, non?**

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This was the part that Remus enjoyed about their relationship. The part that was just theirs. Sirius was fast asleep, Remus however was not, because he just couldn't let this moment pass him by unnoticed. Sirius looked lovely when he was asleep. Even more handsome, if possible. His pale skin glowed faintly in the darkness and his ebony black hair fell like a veil across his still face. He always took up most of the bed, his long limbs sprawled out, tucked up in the majority of the covers. But Remus didn't mind.

Sirius's head was resting against his chest, his soft heartbeat wonderfully close. Sirius often slept in nothing more than a pair of black boxer shorts, as was the case now. It was a humid, sticky July night and even Remus had had to admit defeat, throwing the old T-shirt and blue striped bottoms that he usually wore to bed on the floor. He now lay in his underwear, feeling horribly exposed.

He hated his body. He hated his slight, scrawny frame, so different from Sirius's slender, softly toned figure. But most of all Remus hated his scars. Some were deeper or longer than others, but all were horrible. They ripped across his skin, tell tail trails of his condition. Sometimes Remus could kid himself for a moment that he was a normal man, but all he had to do was look at himself and in that instant all imaginary normality vanished. The scars never let him forget.

Sirius loved Remus's scars. He often said that they were his favourite part of him - apart from his eyes of course. Sirius adored Remus's eyes. Remus himself found this hard to believe. But when he had new scars Sirius would devour them, smoothing his gentle lips and his tender tongue over them until Remus felt nothing but burning fire and ice at the same time.

Sirius had scars, too.

Remus was never supposed to have found out about them, at least not that early on.

They weren't as aggressive as Remus's, but they held much more emotional baggage. Sirius's scars meant something much deeper, much more haunting. And when Remus discovered how Sirius had come to inherit them it had broken his heart.

New additions didn't appear so frequently anymore. And when they did they weren't as ragged, as deep. Sirius was learning to keep control, learning to keep his sketchy promises. He didn't feel the need to feel the pain anymore, because nowadays he something better to feel: love.

It was hard though. So hard. All it took was for one memory to come pouring back, one wrong word said, and all Sirius's previous intentions came crashing in an instant. It didn't matter what he used. A drawing pin, a shard of glass from a broken bottle, his own wonderfully sharp nails. Sometimes even a cigarette.

He was careful to hide his flaws, though. He made sure that his shirts were long sleeved, that he wore a cloak or his favourite velvet blazer when such shirts could not be found. Whenever he had to go without concealment he made sure that his movements were quick, quick enough to stop anybody staring and noticing.

Sirius could still clearly remember the day when his closely guarded secret became a shared one. The dorm room was empty, everybody else was at dinner. He had told them that he felt queasy, any old lie just to escape. But Remus had followed him up just minutes after, because Remus _cared_. And Sirius can still clearly remember the look of shock and horror and hurt on Remus's face when he opened that door room door and saw Sirius kneeling on his bed, the steak knife he had sneaked from the Great Hall pressed to his wrists.

But Sirius can remember what came after the look of shock and horror and hurt, too. He can recall the way Remus's amber eyes softened and a hollow, understanding smile appeared faintly on his lips as he calmly walked forwards and took the knife in his own hands.

Sirius loved Remus truly at that moment. He loved him for being so gentle, for not judging him. "Promise me, Sirius," Remus said after long, long hours of talking, "Promise me that you won't do it anymore."

"I don't know, Rem," Sirius had replied, his voice shaking because he was frightened of the unknown, "It's such a hard thing to promise."

"Fine. If you can't promise to stop completely, then at least promise that you'll try."

"I promise that I will try."

And Sirius had kept his promise, he really had. As he grew older the need to relief himself of pain that way gradually died. It had been weeks since he had harmed himself that way. Remus was proud of him. He was proud of himself.

Sirius just wished that he could make Remus promise to try not to hurt himself too, but he knew that such a promise could never be made.

He would have to bargain with the wolf, not the man, and Sirius knew that that encounter would never be possible.

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**This slowly slipped in to Sirius's point of view, but I think it worked though. Please review.**


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